


These Hands Are Not Quiet, And That's Okay

by SushiOwl



Series: Steter Trumblr Prompts [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Good Peter Hale, M/M, POV Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8119276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: Peter can see Stiles is suffering and that's no fun.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill on Tumblr for the lovely grumpyeeveelady, who gives me the best ideas. This one is simple. Peter gives Stiles a [Fidget Cube.](https://ksr-ugc.imgix.net/assets/013/544/602/d2c5baf79a844383a0b9520e4659920c_original.png?w=680&fit=max&v=1472572492&auto=format&lossless=true&s=d67238f7f4dd2603dc8eaf81226fe69c)

Stiles had never been known to sit still in all the time that Peter had known him. He hadn’t really paid attention before, because he hadn’t needed to. But now–now he and Stiles had been assigned to food runs for pack movies nights, which had led to obligatory conversation, then actually enjoyable conversation, meeting for coffee, inside jokes about the pack members and Peter trying to find ways to make Stiles laugh. So now he was definitely paying attention.

And that was how he noticed that Stiles was getting more agitated, more anxious, sucking on his hoodie strings, scratching layers of skin off the sides of his thumbs with his index fingernails and pulling skin from his lips with his teeth so they looked constantly chapped or raw. He even snapped at Scott over nothing, but when he seemed to realize he essentially just shouted at a puppy, he fled. 

Peter followed him into the background of the rebuilt Hale House, watching him hug himself as he huddled over in the porch chair, leg bouncing. Peter knew he was dealing with a lot, what with trying to unlock his own abilities completely while also writing his final paper for his advanced English class and taking an extra shift a week with his work study program. 

“Anything I can do?” Peter asked, trying to make it light, as if he was going out and was seeing if Stiles wanted anything while he was gone. He didn’t want it to sound like he would bend reality for Stiles had he the power to do so. He could feasibly over to kill someone for Stiles, but he was trying not to do that… unnecessarily. 

Stiles took a moment to answer, and Peter could hear his rushed breathing, as much as he was trying to control it. Finally he shook his shaggy head–he needed a haircut but kept saying he didn’t have the time, never the time–and sighed hard enough to rattle bones. “No, It’s just a–I’ll get over it. It’ll get better. I just need to get my shit together.”

Before Peter said anything stupid and mushy, like how Stiles didn’t need to do it alone, that Peter was there, he turned back toward the house. “Alright.” He went back inside, intending to just let it go, because Stiles was an adult and had been dealing with his own issues his whole life.

And then he went ahead and didn’t let it go at all.

He decided to go right to the person he knew would be able to help the most; Sheriff Stilinski. As much as Scott thought he had a handle on his friends, it didn’t take a genius to see that Stiles was hiding his… condition from him, at least the most of it. It wasn’t malicious. Scott had so much on his plate, and Stiles obviously didn’t want to be anyone’s burden.

But there was no way to hide it from his own father.

So Peter took the sheriff grilled chicken wraps–because Stiles would trail his intestines down main street if he gave the sheriff unhealthy food–and presented them with a smile. The sheriff looked up from work, blinking at Peter and probably wondering how he got past the receptionist and into his office, before his eyes narrowed in understandable suspicion. 

“Okay, what did you do?” the sheriff asked, taking the white food container and flipping open the lid. He sniffed as non-subtly as possible.

“Nothing, surprisingly. I’ve been on my best behavior,” Peter told him and tried not to feel offended when the sheriff gave him a look of total distrust. “I wanted to ask you something about Stiles.”

“Oh god, what did he do?”

Peter smiled a little, touching the leaves of a plant next to the office window. Yep, that was fake. “Nothing–at least, nothing to hurt himself.” He dropped his hand from the faux plant and looked over at the other man, who was wiping his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s been acting strange…r than usual,” Peter said, squinting.

“How so?”

“He’s been angry, easily flustered, and he can’t keep a single part of his body still for a fraction of a second.” Peter ran his fingers across his lips, before he crossed his arms. “Stiles has ADHD, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” the sheriff said, leaning back and crossing his arms too. “I thought he was doing better. He’s been taking less Adderall and on a regular schedule, or at least that’s what he told me.”

Because Peter would probably have had a drug addiction at least three times in his life had he the option, he didn’t comment on how taking less of a medication that helped Stiles was a good idea.

“I wonder if stimming isn’t working out for him,” the sheriff murmured, dropping his head back.

“Stimming?” Peter asked, lifting his brows. Why wasn’t that a term he knew?

“He has this thing,” the sheriff said, lifting his hands and making little fiddling motions. “It’s like this twisted green thing– a tangle. He bends it this way any that. It’s supposed to calm his mind.”

Peter knew what he was talking about. “Oh, that thing. I’ve seen it. Honestly I thought it was some weird scrunchie.”

That made the sheriff laugh. “Looks like one.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Has he been using it lately?”

Peter thought about it. “No,” he said finally. He’d been watching Stiles a little too closely in the past few weeks, and he hadn’t seen that little toy come out at all.

“Ah hell, he lost it,” the Sheriff grumbled, dragging his hands over his face. “That kid. I’ll need to call him about a replacement.”

“Don’t, sheriff, please,” Peter said, lifting a hand, and the other man looked at him in confusion. “He’ll ask you how you know, and he just has this way of getting information out of people. He’ll find out I told on him.” He shrugged when the sheriff snorted with a smile. “Let me talk to him since I noticed.” He headed for the door.

“Alright, I’ll leave it to you, talk to him,” the sheriff said.

As he was heading out, Peter sent the sheriff a grin. “I shall.”

He didn’t, because he recognized pure bullheadedness in Stiles as if it were a part of himself. Stiles wouldn’t want to talk about this. He would see it as weakness, which is why he was hiding it. Badly. So he grabbed his laptop–something he was no longer keeping under the stairs but on his desk–and started to research. A few hours and some email correspondence with a happy Kickstater owner later, he was out a hefty lump sum for a donation but was having an item sent to him overnight. 

When it arrived the next day, he didn’t open it, just put it in his jacket and headed to the pack meeting early, because he knew that Stiles would already be there. And he was, sitting on Derek’s couch with his hood up, his hands in his kangaroo pocket and his wiggling foot on the coffee table. He smelled like exhaustion and excess energy, something that must have been highly uncomfortable..

Peter noted the sound of the shower running upstairs. Derek would be forever. He’d relaxed significantly in the past few years, and he’d learned to appreciate hot showers. He’d be even longer if Braeden was in there too.

“Stiles,” Peter said, stepping into the living area, and Stiles looked over at him. He had dark circles under his eyes and could probably do with a twelve hour nap.

“Hey, Peter,” Stiles said on a sigh, looking back down. So not angry right now, just tired.

While Peter liked to hold out moments for dramatic effect, he wasn’t going to do that when Stiles was suffering. That was no fun for anyone. “Here,” he said, moving around the couch and sitting down next to him while pulling out the small box in his inner pocket. He offered it to Stiles, who looked like he didn’t want to pull his hand from its warm place inside his hoodie but did eventually take it.

Stiles stared at the box, brows coming together, before he opened it and pulled out the small toy. “What is this?” he asked, turning it this way and that, before his eyes popped open wide. “Is this a stim toy?” He looked at Peter in disbelief.

“It’s a Fidget Cube,” Peter said, nodding. “It took me a while to find one with all kinds of stimulation you might need.”

“It has a joy stick,” Stiles said, pushing it around and around. “You have no idea how many controllers I’ve worn out just playing with this part.”

“Do you like it?” Peter asked, watching him turning it around and around to see what each side of the cube offered.

“I love it. It’s perfect.” Stiles smiled up at him, slumping over to lean against Peter’s side. “Thanks.”

With brazenness true to his nature, Peter pressed a swift kiss to Stiles’s forehead, making him let out a squeaky hamster laugh. “You’re welcome.” He leaned his cheek against Stiles’s hair as Stiles continued to play with the toy. And were he a creature capable of feeling regret, he might have done just that when Stiles discovered the clicky buttons.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one alarmingly fast, which is kind of awesome really.
> 
> Come and say to me on [tumblr!](http://thesushiowl.tumblr.com/)


End file.
